Who are we, who is each one of us, if not a combinatoria of experiences, information, books we have read, things imagined?

Reading is going toward something that is about to be, and no one yet knows what it will be.

It is only through the confining act of writing that the immensity of the nonwritten becomes legible

Who are we, who is each one of us, if not a combination of experiences, information, books we have read, things imagined? Each life is an encyclopedia, a library, an inventory of objects, a series of styles, and everything can be constantly shuffled and reordered in every way conceivable.

To write well about the elegant world you have to know it and experience it to the depths of your being... what matters is not whether you love it or hate it, but only to be quite clear about your position regarding it.

Everything can change, but not the language that we carry inside us, like a world more exclusive and final than one's mother's womb.

It is within you that the ghosts acquire voices.